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nations with the varying mountain-ridges and arch of sky, the circumference of that little ranges, that show top over top in bewildering world of peace. succession, and give hints of other valleys Circumscribed as are the boundaries of this beyond, and of Tarns rarely visited, among the place, yet the grounds are so artfully, while one moorland wastes. A single long dim shadow, thinks so artlessly, laid out, that, wandering falling across the water, alters the whole physi- through their labyrinthine recesses, you might ognomy of the scene-nor less a single bright believe yourself in an extensive wilderness. streak of sunshine, brightening up some fea- Here you come out upon a green open gladeture formerly hidden, and giving animation (you see by the sundial it is past seven o'clock) and expression to the whole face of the Lake. there the arms of an immense tree oversha

About a short mile from the Village Inn, you dow what is in itself a scene--yonder, you have will pass by, without seeing it unless warned an alley that serpentizes into gloom and ob not to do somone of the most singularly beau- scurity-and from that cliff you doubtless tiful habitations in the world. It belongs to a would see over the tree-tops into the outer and gentleman of the name of Barber, and, we be- airy world. With all its natural beauties is lieve, has been almost entirely built by him- intermingled an agreeable quaintness, that the original hut on which his taste has worked shows the owner has occasionally been workhaving been a mere shell. The spirit of the ing in the spirit of fancy, almost caprice; the place seems to us to be that of Shadowy Si- tool-house in the garden is not without its ornalence. Its bounds are small; but it is an indi- ments--the barn seems habitable, and the byre visible part of a hillside so secret and silvan, has somewhat the appearance of a chapel. that it might be the haunt of the roe. You You see at once that the man who lives here, hear the tinkle of a rill, invisible among the instead of being sick of the world, is attached hazelsma bird sings or flutters-a bee hums to all elegant socialties and amities; that he his way through the bewildering woods—but uses silver cups instead of maple bowls, shows no louder sound. Some fine old forest-trees his scallop-shell among other curiosities in his extend widely their cool and glimmering shade; cabinet, and will treat the passing pilgrim with and a few stumps or armless trunks, whose pure water from the spring, if he insists upon bulk is increased by a load of ivy that hides that beverage, but will first offer him a glass the hollow wherein the owls have their domi- of the yellow cowslip-wine, the cooling claret, cile, give an air of antiquity to the spot, that, or the sparkling champagne. but for other accompaniments, would almost Perhaps we are all beginning to get a little be melancholy. As it is, the scene has a pen- hungry, but it is too soon to breakfast; so, sive character. As yet you have seen no leaving the village of Grassmere on the right, house, and wonder whither the gravel-walks keep your eye on Helm-crag, while we are are to conduct you, winding fancifully and finding, without seeking, our way up Easdale. fantastically through the smooth-shaven lawn, Easdale is an arm of Grassmere, and in the bestrewed by a few large leaves of the horse words of Mr. Green the artist, “it is in places chestnut or sycamore. But there are clus- profusely wooded, and charmingly sequestered tered verandas where the nightingale might among the mountains.” Here you may hunt woo the rose, and lattice-windows reaching the waterfalls, in rainy weather easily run from eaves to ground-sill, so sheltered that down, but difficult of detection in a drought. they might stand open in storm and rain, and Several pretty rustic bridges cross and recross tall circular chimneys, shaped almost like the the main stream and its tributaries; the cotstems of the trees that overshadow the roof tages, in nook and on hillside, are among the irregular, and over all a gleam of blue sky and most picturesque and engaging in the whole a few motionless clouds. The noisy world country; the vale widens into spacious and ceases to be, and the tranquil heart, delighted noble meadow-grounds, on which might suitwith the sweet seclusion, breathes, “Oh! that ably stand the mansion of any nobleman in this were my cell, and that I were a hermit!" England—as you near its head, every thing

But you soon see that the proprietor is not a gets wild and broken, with a slight touch of hermit; for everywhere you discern unosten- dreariness, and by no very difficult ascent, we tatious traces of that elegance and refinement might reach Easdale-tarn in less than an that belong to social and cultivated life; no- hour's walking from Grassmere--a lonely and thing rude and rough-hewn, yet nothing prim impressive scene, and the haunt of the angler and precise. Snails and spiders are taught to almost as frequently as of the shepherd. keep their own places; and among the flowers How far can we enjoy the beauty of exterof that hanging garden on a sunny slope, not a nal nature under a sharp appetite for breakfast weed is to be seen, for weeds are beautiful or dinner? On our imagination the effect of only by the wayside, in the matting of hedge- hunger is somewhat singular. We no longer roots, by the mossy stone, and the brink of the regard sheep, for instance, as the fleecy or the well in the brae—and are offensive only when bleating flock. Their wool or their baaing is they intrude into society above their own rank, nothing to us--we think of necks, and gigots, and where they have the air and accent of and saddles of mutton; and even the lamb aliens. By pretty pebbled steps of stairs you frisking on the sunny bank is eaten by us in mount up from platform to platform of the the shape of steaks and fry. If it is in the sloping woodland banks—the prospect widen- morning, we see no part of the cow but her ing as you ascend, till from a bridge that spans udder, distilling richest milkiness. Instead of a leaping rivulet, you behold in full blow all ascending to heaven on the smoke of a cottage (irassmere Vale, Village, Church-tower, and chimney, we put our arms round the column, Lake, the whole of the mountains, and a noble I and descend on the lid of the great pan pre

All are but ministers of Love,

paring the family breakfast. Every interest-| this, where all is steadfast but the clouds ing object in the landscape seems edible-our whose very being is change, and the flow of mouth waters all over the vale-as the village waters that have been in motion since the clock tolls eight, we involuntarily say grace, Flood. and Price on the Picturesque gives way to

Ha! a splendid equipage with a coronet. Meg Dods's Cookery.

And out steps, handed by her elated husband, a Mrs. Bell of the Red Lion Inn, Grassmere, high-born, beautiful and graceful bride. They can give a breakfast with any woman in Eng- are making a tour of the Lakes, and the honey. land. She bakes incomparable bread-firm, moon hath not yet filled her horns. If there close, compact, and white, thin-crusted, and be indeed such a thing as happiness on this admirably raised. Her yeast always works earth, here it is--youth, elegance, health, rank, well. What butter! Before it a primrose riches, and love-all united in ties that death must hide its unyellowed head. Then jam of alone can sunder. How they hang towards the finest quality, goose, rasp, and strawberry! each other—the blissful pair! Blind in their and as the jam is, so are her jellies. Hens passion to all the scenery they came to admire, cackle that the eggs are fresh and these or beholding it but by fits and snatches, with shrimps were scraping the sand last night in eyes that can see only one object. She hath the Whitehaven sea. What glorious bannocks already learnt to forget father and mother, of barley-meal! Crisp wheaten cakes, too, no and sister and brother, and all the young creathicker than a wafer. Do not, our good sir, tures like herself—every one-that shared the appropriate that cut of pickled salmon; it is pastimes and the confidence of her virgin heavier than it looks, and will weigh about youthhood. With her, as with Genevieve four pounds. One might live a thousand years,

“All thoughts, all passions, all delights, yet never weary of such mutton-ham. Virgin

Whatever stirs this mortal frame, honey, indeed! Let us hope that the bees

And feed his sacred flame!" were not smothered, but by some gracious disciple of Bonar or Huber decoyed from a full And will this holy state of the spirit endure? No hive into an empty one, with half the summer -it will fade, and fade, and fade away, so imperand all the autumn before them to build and ceptibly, so unconsciously, (so like the shortensaturate their new Comb-Palace. No bad ing of the long summer days, that lose minute thing is a cold pigeon pie, especially of cushats. after minute of the light, till again we hear the To hear them cooing in the centre of a wood yellow leaves rustling in autumnal twilight) is one thing, and to see them lying at the bot- that the heart within that snow-drifted bosom tom of a pie is another—which is the better, till at last it shall be told the truth, and know

will know not how great has been the change, depends entirely on time, place, and circum- till at last it shall be told the truth, and know stance. Well, a beef-steak at breakfast is ra

that all mortal emotion, however paradisiacal,

is born to die. ther startling-but let us try a bit with these fine ingenuous youthful potatoes, from a light

Fain would we believe that forebodings like sandy soil on a warm slope. Next to the these are, on all such occasions, whispered by country clergy, smugglers are the most spirit- wedded life it may generally be said,

a blind and ignorant misanthropy, and that of ual of characters; and we verily believe that to be “sma' still.” Our dear sir-you are in

“O, happy state, where souls together draw, orders, we believe-will you have the good

Where love is liberty, and nature law !" ness to return thanks? Yes, now you may What profound powers of affection, grief, pity, ring the bell for the bill. Moderate indeed! sympathy, delight, and religion belong, by its With a day's work before one, there is nothing constitution, to the frame of every human soul! like the deep broad basis of breakfast.

And if the courses of life have not greatly thwarted the divine dispensations of nature, will they not all rise into genial play within bosoms consecrated to each other's happiness,

till comes between them the cold hand of death? SECOND SAUNTER.

It would seem that every thing fair and good It is yet only ten o'clock-and what a mul-must flourish under that holy necessity-every titude of thoughts and feelings, sights and thing foul and bad fade away; and that no sounds, lights and shadows have been ours quarrel or unkindness could ever be between since sunrise! Had we been in bed, all would pilgrims travelling together through time to have remained unfelt and unknown. But, to eternity, whether their path lead through an be sure, one dream might have been worth Eden or a waste. Habit itself comes with humthem all. Dreams, however, when they are ble hearts to be gracious and benign; they over, are gone, be they of bliss or bale, heaven who have once loved, will not, for that very or the shades. No one weeps over a dream. reason, cease to love; memory shall brighten With such tears no one would sympathize. when hope decays; and if the present be not Give us reality,“ the sober certainty of waking now so blissful, so thrilling, so steeped in rap bliss,” and to it memory shall cling. Let the ture as it was in the golden prime, yet shall it object of our sorrow belong to the living world, without repining suffice to them whose thoughts and, transient though it be, its power may borrow unconsciously sweet comforts from be immortal. Away then, as of little worth, the past and future, and have been taught by all the unsubstantial and wavering world of mutual cares and sorrows to indulge tempered dreams, and in their place give us the very expectations of the best earthly felicity. And humblest humanities, so much the better if is it not so ? How much tranquillity and con enjoyed in some beautiful scene of nature like tentment in human homes! Calm onflowing:

of life shaded in domestic privacy, and seen yet is it irritatingly expensive when a great but at times coming out into the open light! Northern Nursery sends out its hordes, and What brave patience under poverty! What gawky hoydens and hobble-te-hoys are getting beautiful resignation in grief! Riches take themselves accomplished in the foreign lanwings to themselves and fee away-yet with-guages, music, drawing, geography, the use of out and within the door there is the decency the globes, and the dumb-bells. of a changed, not an unhappy lot—The clouds “Let observation, with extensive view, of adversity darken men's characters even'as

Survey mankind from China to Peru." if they were the shadows of dishonour, but con- (Two bad lines by the way, though written by science quails not in the gloom—The well out Dr. Johnson)--and observation will find the of which humility hath her daily drink, is literature of all countries filled with sarcasms nearly dried up to the very spring, but she up- against the marriage-life. Our old Scottish braideth not Heaven-Children, those flowers songs and ballads, especially, delight in reprethat make the hovel's earthen floor delightful senting it as a state of ludicrous misery and as the glades of Paradise, wither in a day, but discomfort. There is little or no talk of horns there is holy comfort in the mother's tears; -the dilemma of English wit; but every innor are the groans of the father altogether with dividual moment of every individual minute, out relief-for they have gone whither they of every individual hour, of every individual came, and are blooming now in the bowers of day, and so on, has its peculiar, appropriHeaven.

ate, characteristic, and incurable wretchedness. Reverse the picture—and tremble for the Yet the delightful thing is, that in spite of all fate of those whom God hath made one, and this jeering and gibing, and grinning and hisswhom no man must put asunder. In common ing, and pointing with the finger-marrying natures, what hot and sensual passions, whose and giving in marriage, births and christengratification ends in indifference, disgust, loath- ings, continue their career of prosperity; and ing, or hatred! What a power of misery, from the legitimate population doubles itself somefretting to madness, lies in that mean but where about every thirty-five years. Single mighty word-Temper! The face, to whose houses rise out of the earth-double houses meek beauty smiles seemed native during the become villages--villages towns-towns cities. days of virgin love, shows now but a sneer, a and our Metropolis is itself a world ! scowl, a frown, or a glare of scorn. The shape While the lyrical poetry of Scotland is thus of those features is still fine—the eye of the rife with reproach against wedlock, it is equalgazelle—the Grecian nose and forehead-the ly rife with panegyric on the tender passion ivory teeth, so small and regular-and thin that leads into its toils. In one page you line of ruby lips breathing Circassian luxury-shudder in a cold sweat over the mean miseries the snow-drifts of the bosom still heave there of the poor “gudeman;" in the next you see, -a lovelier waist Apollo never encircled step- unconscious of the same approaching destiny, ping from the chariot of the sun-nor limbs the enamoured youth lying on his Mary's more graceful did ever Diana veil beneath the bosom beneath the milkwhite thorn. The shadows of Mount Latmos. But she is a fiend pastoral pipe is tuned under a fate that hurries --a devil incarnate, and the sovereign beauty on all living creatures to love; and not one of three counties has made your house a hell. lawful embrace is shunned from any other

But suppose that you have had the sense fears than those which themselves spring up and sagacity to marry a homely wife--or one in the poor man's thoughtful heart. The comely at the best--nay, even that you have wicked betray, and the weak fall-bitter tears sought to secure your peace by admitted ug- are shed at midnight from eyes once bright as liness-or wedded a woman whom all tongues the day--fair faces never smile again, and call-plain; then may an insurance-ticket, in- many a hut has its broken heart-hope comes deed, flame like the sun in miniature on the and goes, finally vanquishing, or yielding to front of your house—but what Joint-Stock despair-crowned passion dies the sated death, Company can undertake to repay the loss in- or, with increase of appetite, grows by what curred by the perpetual singeing of the smoul-it feeds on-wide, but unseen, over all the dering flames of strife, that blaze up without regions of the land, are cheated hopes, vain warning at bed and board, and keep you in an desires, gnawing jealousy, dispirited fear, and everlasting alarm of fire? We defy you to swarthy-souled revenge-beseechings, seducutter the most glaring truth that shall not be tions, suicides, and insanities--and all, all instantly contradicted. The most rational pro- spring from the root of Love; yet all the posals for a day or hour of pleasure, at home nations of the earth call the Tree blest, and or abroad, are on the nail negatived as absurd. long as time endures, will continue to flock If you dine at home every day for a month, she thither panting to devour the fruitage, of which wonder, why nobody asks you out, and fears every other golden globe is poison and death. you take no trouble to make yourself agreeable. Smile away then, with all thy most irresistiIf

you dine from home one day in a month, ble blandishnients, thou young and happy then are you charged with being addicted to Bride! What business have we to prophesy tavern-clubs. Children are perpetual bones of bedimming tears to those resplendent eyes? or contention—there is hatred and sorrow in that the talisman of that witching smile can house-bills-rent and taxes are productive of ever lose its magic? Are not the high-born endless grievances; and although education be daughters of England also the high-souled? an excellent thing-indeed quite a fortune in And hath not honour and virtue, and charity itself-especially to a poor Scotsman going to and religion, guarded for centuries the lofty England, where all the people are barbarous— line of thy pure and unpolluted blood ? Joy ful, therefore, mayst tnou be, as the dove in Was she one flower of many, and singled the sunshine on the Tower-top-and as the out by death's unsparing finger from a wreath dove serene, when she sitteth on her nest of beauty, whose remaining blossoms seem within the yew-tree's gloom, far within the now to have lost all their fragrance and all wood!

their brightness? Or was she the sole delight Passing from our episode, let us say that of her grayhaired parents' eyes, and is the voice we are too well acquainted with your taste, of joy extinguished in their low-roofed home feeling, and judgment, to tell you on what ob- for ever? Had her loveliness been beloved, jects to gaze or glance, in such a scene as the and had her innocent hopes anticipated the vale and village of Grassmere. Of yourselves bridal-day, nor her heart, whose beatings were you will find out the nooks and corners from numbered, ever feared that narrow bed? All which the pretty whitewashed and flowering that we know is her name and age--you see cottages do most picturesquely combine with them glittering on her coffin—“Anabella Irvine, each other, and with the hills, and groves, and aged xix years !" old church-tower. Without our guiding hand The day seems something dim, now that we will you ascend knoll and eminence, be there are all on our way back to Ambleside; and, pathway or no pathway, and discover for your- although the clouds are neither heavier nor selves new Lake-Landscapes. Led by your more numerous than before, somehow or other own sweet and idle, chaste and noble fancies, the sun is a little obscured. We must not inyou will disappear, single, or in pairs and dulge too long in a mournful mood-yet let us parties, into little woody wildernesses, where all sit down under the shadow of this grove of you will see nothing but ground-flowers and a sycamores, overshadowing this reedy bay of glimmering contiguity of shade. Solitude some- Rydal-mere, and listen to a Tale of Tears. times, you know, is best society, and short Many a tame tradition, embalmed in a few retirement urges sweet return. Various travels pathetic verses, lives for ages, while the memor voyages of discovery may be undertaken, ory of the most affecting incidents, to which and their grand object attained in little more genius has allied no general emotion, fades than an hour. The sudden whirr of a cushat like the mist, and leaves heart-rending griefs is an incident, or the leaping of a lamb among undeplored. Elegies and dirges might indeed the broom. In the quiet of nature, matchless have well been sung amidst the green ruins seems the music of the milkmaid's song-and of yonder Cottage, that looks now almost like of the hearty laugh of the haymakers, cross-a fallen wall-at best, the remnants of a cattleing the meadow in rows, how sweet the cheer- shed shaken down by the storm. ful echo from Helm-crag! Grassmere appears Thirty years ago-how short a time in naby far the most beautiful place in all the Lake- tional history—how long in that of private country. You buy a field—build a cottage- sorrows!-all tongues were speaking of the and in imagination lie (for they are too short death that there befell, and to have seen the to enable you to sit) beneath the shadow of weeping, you would have thought that the your own trees!

funeral could never have been forgotten. But In an English village-highland or lowland stop now the shepherd on the hill, and ask him -seldom is there any spot so beautiful as the who lived in that nook, and chance is he churchyard. That of Grassmere is especially knows not even their name, much less the so, with the pensive shadows of the old church- story of their afflictions. It was inhabited by tower settling over its cheerful graves. Ay, Allan Fleming, his wife, and an only child, its cheerful graves! Startle not at the word known familiarly in her own small world by as too strong—for the pigeons are cooing in the name of LUCY OF TIE Fold. In almost belfry, the stream is murmuring round the every district among the mountains, there is mossy churchyard wall, a few lambs are lying its peculiar pride-someone creature to whom on the mounds, and flowers laughing in the nature has been especially kind, and whose sunshine over the cells of the dead. But hark! personal beauty, sweetness of disposition, and the bell tolls--oneone-one-a funeral knell, felt superiority of mind and manner, single her speaking not of time, but of eternity! To-day out, unconsciously, as an object of attraction there is to be a burial and close to the wall and praise, making her the May-day Queen of of the Tower you see the new-dug grave. the unending year. Such a darling was Lucy

Hush! The sound of singing voices in yon- Fleming ere she had finished her thirteenth der wood, deadened by the weight of umbrage! year; and strangers, who had heard tell of her Now it issues forth into the clear air, and now loveliness, often dropt in, as if by accident, to all is silence-but the pause speaks of death. see the Beauty of Rydal-mere. Her parents Again the melancholy swell ascends the sky-rejoiced in their child; nor was there any reaand then comes slowly along the funeral pro- son why they should dislike the expression of cession, the coffin borne aloft, and the mourn- delight and wonder with which so many reers all in white; for it is a virgin who is garded her. Shy was she as a woodland bird, carried to her last home. Let every head be but as fond too of her nest; and, when there reverently uncovered while the psalm enters was nothing near to disturb her, her life was the gate, and the bier is borne for holy rites almost a perpetual hymn. From joy to sadalong the chancel of the church, and laid ness, and from sadness to joy; from silence to down close to the altar. A smothered sobbing song, and from song to silence; from stillness disturbeth not the service-'tis a human spirit like that of the butterfly on the flower, to mobreathing in accordance with the divine. Mor- tion like that of the same creature wavering tals weeping for the immortal-Earth's pas- in the sunshine over the wood-top-was to sions cleaving to one who is now in heaven. Lucy as welcome a change as the change of

lights and shadows, breezes and calms, in the the hearth around which was read the mornmountain-country of her birth.

ing and the evening prayer. One summer day, a youthful stranger ap

What wild schemes does not love imagine, peared at the door of the house, and after an and in the face of very impossibility achieve! hour's stay, during which Lucy was from “I will take Lucy to myself, if it should be in home, asked if they would let him have lodg-place of all the world. I will myself shed light ing with them for a few months-a single room over her being, till in a new spring it shall be for bed and books, and that he would take his adorned with living flowers that fade not away, meals with the family. Enthusiastic boy! to perennial and self-renewed. In a few years him poetry had been the light of life, nor did the bright docile creature will have the soul ever creature of poetry belong more entirely of a very angel-and then, before God and at than he to the world of imagination. He had his holy altar, mine shall she become for ever come into the free mountain region from the here and hereafter in this paradise of earth, confinement of college-walls, and his spirit and, if more celestial be, in the paradise of expanded within him like a rainbow. No heaven.” eyes had he for realities--all nature was seen Thus two summers and two winters wheeled in the light of genius-not a single object at away into the past; and in the change, impersunrise and sunset the same. All was beauti- ceptible from day to day, but glorious at last, ful within the circle of the green hill-tops, wrought on Lucy's nature by communication whether shrouded in the soft mists or clearly with one so prodigally endowed, scarcely could outlined in a cloudless sky. Home, friends, her parents believe it was their same child, colleges, cities-all sunk away into oblivion, except that she was dutiful as before, as affecand HARRY HOWARD felt as if wafted off on the tionate, and as fond of all the familiar objects, wings of a spirit, and set down in a land be dead or living, round and about her birthyond the sea, foreign to all he had before ex- place. She had now grown to woman's staperienced, yet in its perfect and endless beauty ture-tall, though she scarcely seemed so appealing every hour more tenderly and except when among her playmates; and in her strongly to a spirit awakened to new power, maturing loveliness, fulfilling, and far more and revelling in new emotion. In that cottage than fulfilling the fair promise of her childhe took up his abode. In a few weeks came a hood. Never once had the young stranger library of books in all languages; and there stranger no more-spoken to daughter, father, was much wondering talk over all the country- or mother, of his love. Indeed, for all that he side about the mysterious young stranger who felt towards Lucy there must have been some now lived at the Fold.

other word than love. Tenderness, which was Every day-and, when he chose to absent almost pity--an affection that was often sad himself from his haunts among the hills, every wonder at her surpassing beauty, nor less at hour was Lucy before the young poet's eyes- her unconsciousness of its power-admiration and every hour did her beauty wax more beau- of her spiritual qualities, that ever rose up to tiful in his imagination. Who Mr. Howard meet instruction as if already formed and was, or even if that were indeed his real name, that heart-throbbing that stirs the blood of youth no one knew; but none doubted that he was when the innocent eyes it loves are beaming of gentle birth, and all with whom he had ever in the twilight through smiles or through tears, conversed in his elegant amenity, could have these, and a thousand other feelings, and sworn that a youth so bland and free, and with above all, the creative faculty of a poet's soul, such a voice, and such eyes, would not have now constituted his very being when Lucy injured the humblest of God's creatures, much was in presence, nor forsook him when he was less such a creature as Lucy of the Fold. It alone among the mountains. was indeed even so--for, before the long sum- At last it was known through the country mer days were gone, he who had never had a that Mr. Howard--the stranger, the scholar, the sister, loved her even as if she had slept on the poet, the elegant gentleman, of whom nobody same maternal bosom. Father or mother he knew much, but whom every body loved, and now had none-indeed, scarcely one near re- whose father must at the least have been a lation—although he was rich in this world's lord, was going in a year or less-to marry riches, but in them poor in comparison with the daughter of Allan Fleming-Lucy of the the noble endowments that nature had lavished Fold. Oh, grief and shame to the parents—if upon his mind. His guardians took little heed still living—of the noble Boy! Oh, sorrow for of the splerdid but wayward youth—and knew himself when his passion dies—when the not now whither his fancies had carried him, dream is dissolved-and when, in place of the were it even to some savage land. Thus, the angel of light who now moves before him, he Fold became to him the one dearest roof under sees only a child of earth, lowly-born, and long the roof of heaven. All the simple on-goings rudely bred—a being only fair as many others of that humble home, love and imagination are fair, sister in her simplicity to maidens no beautified into poetry; and all the rough or less pleasing than she, and partaking of many coarser edges of lowly life, were softened weaknesses, frailties, and faults now unknown away in the light of genius that transmuted to herself in her happiness, and to him in his every thing on which it fell; while all the si- love! Was there no one to rescue them from lent intimations which nature gave there of such a fate—from a few months of imaginary her primal sympathies, in the hut as fine and bliss, and from many years of real bale ? How forceful as in the hall, showed to his excited could such a man as Allan Fleming so in spirit pre-eminently lovely, and chained it to fatuated as sell his child to fickle youth, who

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